The Port Folio

ancient line of kings, can see nothing, can hear of nothing, but plots to overthrow the government, and bring back the golden age of their day-dreams, the reign of rebellion, plunder, and blood.

We shall not, of course, be accused of attributing to Mr. Hobhouse the portentous ignorance and folly of Lady Morgan. Mr. Hobhouse, unfortunately for himself, is not ignorant, unless of existing circumstances:-but Lady Morgan (and we record it to her praise) possesses one substantial advantage over him. She insults and vilifies the royal family of France, it is true, but she does not outrage humanity so far as to term them bone-grubbers,' because they piously sought to give the remains of their sovereign and father a decent burial.

. We must how have done:-to confess the truth we have long since been weary of Lady Morgan, and shall not therefore offend our readers by any further exposure of the wickedness and folly of her book; of both of which we have given an idea less perfect, we readily admit than we had materials for, but one which will, we hope, prevent in some degree, the circulation of trash which under the name of a Lady author, might otherwise find its way into the hands of young persons of both sexes, for whose perusal it is utterly, on the score both of morals and politics, unfit.

The volume closes with four bulky Appendices on Politics, Finance, Law, and Physic, by Sir T. Charles Morgan, M. D. thrown in, we presume, as a kind of make weight to the literary cargo which his lady, as per contract, was bound to deliver between the months of November and March.' Three of them are on subjects of which the Doctor is utterly ignorant; and we therefore think that he has been very prudently as well as kindly advised,' to confine his literary mania in future to the ambition of being read by apothecaries.'

We have just received a second edition of Lady Morgan's France, in two volumes, octavo, preceded by a flourishing preface, in which she affects all the intoxication of literary triumph that the rapid success of her quarto should have necessitated a second edition. This is, we fear, of a piece with all the rest, or, in other words, a downright falsehood; we have compared the octavo edition with the quarto, and have no doubt that the former has been printed off from the same types which were set up for the latter. a specics of manoeuvre which enables a publisher to make two editions out of one; and what puts it beyond doubt that Lady Morgan's triumph is reducible to this trick; is the fact that in this second edition not one of the numerous errors of the first (of which both Lady Morgan and her printer had grirviously complained) is corrected; nay, the very table of errata which accompanied the quarto is carefully reprinted in the octavo. So much for the glory of a rapid sale, and the triumph of a second edition!--And thus Lady Morgan concludes as she began.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

A Poetical Epistle to Oliver Oldschool, Esq. Oh! Mr. Oldschool, could you know,

How far your mighty power extends, It might endanger, perhaps o'erthrow,

That judgment which delights your friends; "Mongst whom, believe me, though unknown, And wishing to remain so ever,

I fain would have you rank me one,

Who knows you're kind, and swears you're clever

Then let it not your ire excite,

Though I should pay in terms too trite,
The homage that to Power is due,

A power, peculiar, sir, to you-
And that for which I'd gladly give,
The mightiest king's prerogative.
A power, which if you e'er should love,
And love, like me, alas! in vain,
E'en to the maddening of the brain,

The bursting of your heart in twain,
Whose tranquilizing aid you'll prove--

For should your fair but cruel friend,
Your darling hopes and fears to end,
Angry and hurt without a cause,

No more submit to reason's laws;-
But spurn, unread, the billet doux,
Which sweet affection, friendship true,
Had penn'd in anguish, to explain

The hated cause of all your pain!
If such, should ever be your fate,

You still your cause can vindicateYou still have got at your command, The power of a magician's wand. To your thrice happy page 'tis given,

Oh! first of blessings this side Heaven, To feel the pressure of that hand,

Whose dimpled beauties, none withstand-
To view without offence that face,

The envied seat of every grace;
To gaze unhurt-that look to catch,
Which yet on earth no look could match;
To greet those unsuspecting eyes,

With lines that speak your bursting sighs,
O'er which half conscious she will bend,
Uncertain yet to what they tend-

And when, obedient to the call

Of heavenly pity, given to all
Whom nature in her bounteous mood,
Created beautiful and good,
Her heart shall feel for others' pain;
Unmindful of the harsh disdain,
Of which her thousand beaux complain;
Then-ere the softened maid is wary,
Or dreams that by an unknown name,

An unknown bard extols her fame,
Your verse, may like a whispering fairy,
Say Mura anagram'd is Mary;

And touch the proud Cydippe's heart,
By acting o'er Acontius' art-
So shall the dear offended fair,
With smiles reward th' ingenious snare-
Smiles which perchance may Heralds prove,
To welcome back ungrateful love—

Much was I pleased as late my eyes,
Found in fair Barbauld's verse a prize--
And much I wish'd that I could sue,
Where she was judge and jury too-

These," signs of love" by woman wrote,
I've wish'd a thousand times to quote,

TheSigns of Love" by Mrs. Barbauld, in
Port Folio for December, 1817.

So aptly my sad case they speak-
And since to hope's the proof of love,
Why then should hope the anger move,

Of that fair maid our soul would seek?
The fault's not ours-the fault is hers,
She makes us love-'tis she that errs-
For more or less than human he,
That view'd her op'ning charms must be,
Who saw and did not love-

I saw and loved-and till that hour,
Which dooms me, death, to feel thy power,
Unchanged my heart will prove-

Soon will the drowsy watchman's brawl,
Proclaim that all-devouring time,
Has just ingulfed another year
But as to me t'was wormwood all,
I trust I may, without a crime,
Rejoice when it shall disappear-

Then let it pass-I owe it naught-
To me its every hour was fraught

With pangs despised love bestows—
And yet sir, I would not exchange.
My miseries, for the widest range

Of pleasures, blank indifference knows-
And now, sage sir, an unknown wight,
Sincerely wishes you good night-

He hopes, that every coming year,
May double your subscription clear-
That, if you love, success may make
You soon to want a wedding cake-

And that, with your accustomed grace,
You'll give a rhyming Strephon place,
To praise his mistress, if she's kind,
If cross, to try to change her mind-
Acontius.

SONNET.

On seeing a vessel weigh anchor for a long voyage.
Stately yon vessel sails adown the tide!

To some far distant land adventurous bound,
The sailors' busy cries from side to side

Pealing among the echoing rocks rebound;
A patient, thoughtless, much enduring band,
Joyful they enter on their ocean way,
With shouts exulting leave their native land,
And know no care beyond the present day.
But is there no poor mourner left behind,

Who sorrows for a child or husband there?
Who at the howling of the midnight wind
Will wake and tremble in her boding prayer?
So may her voice be heard, and Heaven be kind
Go, gallant ship, and be thy fortunes fair!

Has grown upon the waters;
Of aromatic mint, his dram
He wants-and to the land of Ham
Bears off his wife and daughters.

And I, a rambler, never still,
Again must cross the Laurel Hill,

Where each man swears who passes,
With deep regret must bid adieu,
Dear Captain, to your friends and you,
And all the pretty lasses!

The lasses! did I say?-by Jove,
I never saw the hook of love

So elegantly baited;

And he who's wise enough to wed,
E'er all the joys of youth be fled,
Might here be nicely mated.

Orlando,

Behold the rose, with how much grace
Her curls are waving in the air,
While o'er the jasmine's modest face,
The violet braids her fragrant hair.

The rose-bud, like a virgin bride
Adorn'd with sweet and lovely smiles,
Each heart from virtue leads aside,

Each heart of peace and rest beguiles.

The love-sick bird of evening sings,
The linnet warbles in the bow'r,
The rose from Sorrow's dwelling springs
And comes to grace this festal hour.
of fortune's fables from thy wine
Oh Hafez, and thy cup inquire;
While at thy side some sage divine
Speaks sweetly as the vocal lyre.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

The Bachelor's Soliloquy.

Marry, or not to marry? that is the question--
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The sullen silence of these cob-webbed rooms
Or seek in festive balls some cheerful dame,
And, by uniting, end it? to live alone,
No more: and by marrying say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand make-shifts
Bach'lors are heirs to; 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To marry, to live
In peacel Perchance in war: ay, there's the
rub;

For in the marriage state what ills may come,
When we have shuffled off our liberty,
Must give us pause-there's the respect,
That makes us dread the bonds of wedlock
For who could bear the noise of scolding wives,
The fits of spleen, th' extravagance of dress,
The thirst for plays, for concerts and for balls,
The insolence of servants, and the spurns
That patient husbands from their consorts take
When he himself might his quietus gain
By living single. Who would wish to bear
The jeering name of bachelor,

But that the dread of after marriage,
(Ah that vast expenditure of income,
No tongue can scarcely tell) puzzles the will,
And makes us rather choose the single life,
Than go to jail for debts we know not of-
Economy thus makes bachelors of us still;
And thus our melancholy resolution
Is still increased upon more serious thought.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO,

Spring. From the Persian.

This day, let joy our souls inspire,
Since 'tis, the feast of spring so gay:
We've gain'd our heart's supreme desire,
And fate submits to us this day.

No more, oh moon! of Heav'n the bride,
Thy face in eastern skies display,
My charmer shows with conscious pride
The full-moon of her cheek today.

Why dost thou think the nightingale
Thus early sings his plaintive lay?
The blooming spring's return to hail,
He seeks his sweetest notes today.

No more our giddy youth reprove;

To yonder railing censor say; Who sits content without his love?

Or who's deprived of wine today?

Ah see, at last we're wise no more,

The pious dervish bends his way; He who in convents dwelt before,

Within the tavern hides to day.

Proclaim, that from thy charms divine
The eyes of Hafez never stray,
And on the sparkling cup of wine
His tuneful lips are fixed to day.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

The advice of Hafez. From the Persian. The breath of Spring sheds rapture round, The opening rose to joy invites, And bids each harsher thought be drown'd In rosy wine and love's delights.

Where'er thou see'st the rose's cheek,

With wanton smiles and blushes gay, From thy young heart, with ardour seek To tear the root of grief away.

The playful zephyr to his arms

The youthful rose-bud comes to woo; She tears the veil, that hid her charms, And all her beauties burst to view.

Learn truth and gen'rous deeds to love,
My heart, from yon transparent stream;

And ask the cypress in the grove,
Of justice, and her sacred theme.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.
ODE.

To a lady of Norfolk, on her birth day,
10th. Nov. 1817.

How bright the beams of morning shine
When hope and youth together twine,
And o'er the smiling, rosy way,
In search of promis d pleasur stray!
So bright to thee, the beams appear
That wake the welcome new born year,
While, circling, dance the rosy hours
That led thy steps to Pleasure's bow'rs,
Oh! long to thee may morn be bright,
And wake thy heart to new delight;
Her rapturous smile affection shed,
And constant friendship near thee tread;
No tear but joy's thy cheek bedew,
And partial time each grace renew,
And while returning birth-days shine,
May ev'ry bliss continue thine.

MISSOURI COUNTRY.-Extract of a letter from a gentleman in St. Louis to his friend, dated Sept. 19, 1817.The valley of Missouri, below the mouth of the great river Kansas, lies between the latitudes of 38 deg. and 39 deg. 5 min. as near as has been ascertained. It is, therefore, that precise latitude in which, according to the elevation and face of the country, and the warmth of the soil, wheat, oats, rye, barley, Indian corn, buckwheat, grasses and tobacco are equally at home. All these, as far as experiments have been made, are produced in the highest perfection. Wheat, for example, weighs from 64 to 72 lbs. Tobacco is very thick, not apt to fire, and I have measured many leaves of 16 inches in length, and thereabouts. Stock of all kinds are healthy, and easily raised on the highlands. They are subject to some peculiar diseases in the low grounds. Our horses, unlike those of Kentucky, have clean limbs, small round feet, and are tough and hardy. Our best lands are high lands. The best of them are as fertile and more easily cultivated than the low grounds. On these lands, with ordinary cultivation, (what you would hardly call cultivation at all) the crop of Indian corn varies from 12 to 16 bbls. This I see every where. I have heard of much more, and have little doubt that more than 20 could be raised by a judicious and industrious farmer. Land of this quality may be had according to its situation, for from two to ten dollars. Of such land as I have just mentioned, there are, besides the river bottoms, whose average width is two miles, many patches of from 20,000 to 200,000 acres, scattered through the country. The quantity of land unfit for cultivation is very small. There is an intermediate quality more easily cultivated than that first inentioned, but not so productive; but, in this country, where land is a drug, and labor a jewel. it is hardly less desirable at present. These dands will produce, with our common cultivation, from 10 to 15 barrels of

corn to the acre. Their appearance is unsightly, being chiefly covered with dwarfish trees, stinted by fire, and their value is known to very few. They lie vacant every where, and until lately, have been unoccupiedexcept by squatters. They may be had, of course, from two dollars to five dollars per acre. The bottom is unfriendly to wheat; and of the highlands, perhaps the second quality produces the most and best. The average crop is from 30 to 40 bushels per acre. The low grounds of the Missouri are never overflowed; those of the Mississippi sometimes, but never except in May. Occasional rains in the summer produce no visible effects on these rivers. We have all varieties of timber from the impenetrable forest to the clear prairie. The wooded bottoms are covered with walnut, elm, oak, ash, peccan, hackberry, sycamore and cotton wood. The growth of primitive upland forests is the same, except the cotton wood and sycamore. The cotton wood is a huge tree. Its leaf resembles that of the Lombardy poplar-its timber is precisely that of the Virginia poplar, having the same varieties. The growth on prairies just recovering from the effects of fire, is stinted hickory and black jack. You will see this growth on a loam three feet deep. Where the fire has been long excluded you find tall, clean red and white oaks and hickory. Our conveyance to market is by the river to Orleans, at one dollar per cwt. The return load is four dollars and fifty cents per cwt. We are never stopped by want of water, and therefore can always anticipate Kentucky in the wheat market. Our home prices are from 75 to 100 cents for wheat, and from $1 25 to $2 50 for corn. We are a little sickly on the bottoms. On the uplands, remarkably healthy. Strangers arriving between May and November may expect a seasoningthose who come between November and May escape it. A negro fellow will hire for 15 dolls. per month. My own hands this year make 1000

Bushels of corn and 1000 lbs. tobacco each. Dry Goods about 10 per cent above the Atlantic prices. Iron and smiths' work very high. Groceries may be laid in at moderate prices-say, brown sugar, 18 cts. coffee, 36 cts. &c. Having answered your questions, I have left myself little more to say. Our country abounds with coal, salt, iron, lead and copper. We want nothing but capital and population to make it the garden of the west."

Irish Emigration Society.-Thos. A. Emmett, Esq. and other gentlemen propose to form a Society of Irishmen and descendents of Irishmen for the purpose of endeavouring to procure from Congress a tract of land in the Illinois territory, to be settled by persons of that description. They disclaim all interested views and we give them every credit for the benevolent objects by which they are actuated. Mr. Emmett justly remarks, that much might undoubtedly be expected from the generous sympathy which the sorrows and sufferings of Ireland have every where excited in the United States, and from the acknowledged liberality of its constituted authorities; but very forcible arguments might also be addressed to its policy and interest. Not only those that in the ordinary course of events would arrive here, whose usefulness is lost by the want of proper direction, and who become burdens or scourges to our cities, would be rescued and placed in a situation where all the energies of active and enterprising minds might be serviceable to themselves and the community; but also the very fact that such an asylum was open and accessible, would infinitely increase the amount of emigration from Ireland, and people our wilderness with incalculable rapidity. The place upon which we have fixed our eyes, continues Mr.E.is in the Illinois territory-it has been lately purchased, and it is not yet even surveyed. In the ordinary course of events it is not likely to be brought into market

(at least to any extent) for many years: but, if Congress listen to this application and grant to the settlers an extended credit, government will receive payment for the land probably as soon as if it were suffered to remain unheeded till its regular turn for sale came round. A large body of settlers will be enabled to grow rich during the time that the land would be otherwise waste and unproductive, and the value of all the contiguous property belonging to the United States, would be rapidly and immediately increased, to say nothing of the advantages resulting from such a settled frontier.

Ancient Chronicle.-The Armenian Academy established at Venice in the island of St. Lazarus, has had the good fortune to discover a manuscript complete of the Chronicle of Eusebius, of Cæsarea. It is translated into the Armenian language, and is of the fifth century. The academy proposes to publish the Armenian text with a Latin translation facing it.

Raleigh, (N.C.)-Among the numerous productions to which the soil and climate of North-Carolina are favourable, it is found that the sugar cane may now be added. The present is the second year of the experiment-only a few plantings having been at first obtained-but the enterprising gentleman who has made the attempt, calculates on making sugar his staple crop for the approaching year.

Salt Springs.--The Ohio Spectator printed at Wooster, Wane County, has the following;

"Mr. Joseyh Eichar having penetrated through a rock, 440 feet, has at length, obtained salt water of a good quality, such, that 100 gallons of water makes a bushel of excellent salt. His well is about three miles west of this town. The rock being in many places very hard, he was upwards of two years in perforating it, the expense of which was by no means inconsiderable.“

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